


Malcolm Tucker and The Wedding

by rubywallace25



Series: Tucker, Cassidy, Smith and Kline [6]
Category: In the Loop (2009) & The Thick of It, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 13,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubywallace25/pseuds/rubywallace25
Summary: Malcolm and Sam are the proud adoptive parents to Chanelle and Dean.Malcolm is getting married...





	1. At Home with the Cassidy-Tuckers

"So, when do ye want to do it?”

Malcolm asks Sam from over the top of his sunglasses.

Sam pauses from her busy activity of weeding the flower boarder, turns to face him with a frown and a sweaty brow.

Behind them Charleston the French Bulldog is being tormented by their children Chanelle and Dean, who are both armed with a supersoaker and a bucket of water, and who are doing their very best to ‘wash the dog’.

"Do what?”

Malcolm roles his eyes.

"Only become the luckiest woman in the World and marry me, again.”

Sam laughs.

"I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.”

"What the fuck woman, ye love being married to me.”

Sam laughs again.

"Alright, it’s not absolutely terrible, how about May?”

Malcolm’s eyebrows almost lift up off the top of his head.

"But, it’s May now.”

He muses with a terrified expression.

"I know that, I meant next year, May 2019.”

Fuck, that’s a long time.

"Fucking hell Sam, that’s a long time.”

Sam’s face falls into another frown and Malcolm knows there’s something his wife is keeping from him.

"About that, Malc there’s something, DEAN NO, don’t let the dog back into the house…”

Before Sam finishes her sentence, Dean lets the soaking wet dog back into the house through the French windows.


	2. Sisters

"Have you told him, yet?”

Sam manages to slosh paint across her face just as her Bex asks her that particular question.

"Shit, is it in my hair?”

Sam complains as she climbs down from the wobbly step ladder paint brush still in hand.

Bex’s face says everything Sam needs to know, but her non-identical twin sister backs up that expression by saying…

"You know I actually want the ceiling painted, right.”

"Ha, ha, ha.”

Sam says with absolutely no humour, as she attempts to wipe magnolia from her arm, the side of her face and of course her hair.

"I hate your flat.”

Sam pouts as she rounds on Bex, who simply smiles at her and says…

"Be careful your inner ten year old is showing.”

Despite herself Sam laughs at that.

"Here, I made you an extremely milky brew and also have you told Malcolm yet?”

Bex presents Sam with a mug of tea, which is extremely milky looking.

Unable to avoid the question any longer Sam decides to be the grown-up forty year old that she actually is and just confront the thing head on.

"No.”

She sighs heavily and takes a sip of her tea.

"I thought the plan was for you to get re-married next year, that’s not leaving you a lot of time.”

"I know, but I haven’t decided what I want to do, yet?”

Sam settles herself down upon the dust sheet laid out over what will eventually be Bex’s living room floor.

Bex quickly joins her and the sister’s sit side by side with their backs against a freezing radiator.

"I don’t really understand why you’re getting married again, anyway?”

Bex says as she takes a sip from her own mug.

"You’re a commitment phobe, anyway it’s for the kids, so that Chanelle and Dean can feel like a proper part of the family.”

"I’m not a commitment phobe I have a son and a boyfriend, now.”

Sam notices how Bex winces only a little while describing Simon Foster as her boyfriend.

"Where is your boyfriend?”

"Stop changing the subject.”

Sam frowns.

"I never admitted this, not even to Malcolm, so please don’t ever tell him.”

"I won’t I promise.”

Bex slips her hand into Sam’s.

"When we got married the first time, Malc and I, well it was a lovely day, but it rained, it was in January and not long after, well...”

"Prison.”

Bex concluded for Sam.

"Prison.”

Sam’s frown grows heavier.

"That’s why it would be nice to get married without all of that and for the four of us.”

Sam rests her head against Bex’s shoulder.

"So, just tell him, say ‘Malcolm I want you to be Jewish’.”

The sisters giggle.

"Maybe.”

Sam grins.


	3. Trapped in the Cupboard

"Is he in the cupboard?”

Bex asks as she ducks her head around the door, Ros is sat at her computer looking as happy as ever with her arm still strapped up in a sling.

It’s been a good, well it’s been a while at least and Ros’s arm still shows no sign of healing, Bex would love to know what she’d actually done to it, or why she insists on keeping the bloody thing strapped up.

Does Ros really enjoy typing with one hand?

"Oh yes, very funny.”

Ros shrugs her shoulders and doesn’t smile.

Only Simon Foster could have picked such an assistant, who even puts Bex on edge.

Wanting to keep any interaction with Ros to a minimum, Bex crossed the floor and slips into the room Simon lovingly calls his ‘office’, but which is in fact nothing better than a cupboard.

"Ros, did they have any brie and bacon?”

Simon asks without looking up from his computer.

"No brie and bacon sorry, but I have bought you some crisps.”

"Oh Bex.”

The look on Simon’s face when he sees her does something very strange to Bex’s tummy.

She throws the packet of salt and vinegar crisps into his lap, before hoping up onto the edge of his desk.

"Has Ros gone out to get much lunch, only I think she’s got a plan to starve me to fucking death in here.”

Simon says as he opens his crisps with relish.

"What’s wrong with her arm?”

Bex asks as she pilfers one of Simon’s crisps.

"I have no fucking idea, but she’s had that sling on ever since, ever since I started here.”

"Wow, that is a long time, maybe she should see a doctor?”

Bex laughs.  
"Can I kiss you now?”

Simon asks and Bex playfully rolls her eyes.

"If you really must.”

Bex teases.

Simon ignores her comment and pulls Bex into quite a good kiss, he’s getting better at kissing.

After the kiss Simon finishes off his crisps.

"Why are you here, I thought you had a big DIY project with your sister?”

Bex only feels the slightest bit of guilt about leaving Sam to paint the ceiling alone.

"It was painting, Sam can handle it.”

"Which room was it?”

Simon asks mid chew.

"My bedroom.”

"Wonderful, so now whenever I come over, I’ll have the spectre of your sister looming down over me.”

Bex laughs so hard at that, that she almost coughs herself into a seizure.

"Are you alright?”

She nods.

"It could be worse, it could be Malcolm.”

Recovering herself, Bex muses and watches with delight as Simon visibly shrinks at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name.

Bex doesn’t really understand Simon’s phobia of Malcolm Tucker, after all, while Malcolm may be a bit shouty, he also spend most of his time on his hands and knees pretending to be a horse with her nephew or her son on his back, it’s sweet.

"Can I come over tonight?”

Simon asks hopefully.

"No, I’m back at Sam’s tonight.”

Bex watches Simon visibly deflate.  
"Do you want to come over to mine, only I’d quite like to have sex with you?”

Bex snorts at the suggestion.

"I’m not an inflatable doll.”

Simon goes all flustered at that.

"No, no, no, of course not, I didn’t mean, of course you’re not a doll inflatable or, or otherwise. I just, what I meant was,”

Bex places her index finger against Simon’s moving lips and silences him.

"I’m not wearing any knickers.”

Simon eyes practically pop out of his head.

"Really?”

Simon asks as Bex pours herself out his lap.

"Really.”

Bex grins pulling him into another kiss.

 

 

Ros stares at the holiday prices from Crete as she finishes off Simon Foster’s brie and bacon sandwich.

She’s just about to click onto the next page when she hears the sounds of laughter and then…

Ros opens her special word document.

Minister had sex with girlfriend in office at 14.30 on Saturday, 2nd June 2018.

Ros closes the word document and pops in her headphones before booking her holiday.


	4. An Old Packet of Just For Men

"Ye’ve still got paint in ye’re hair.”

Malcolm muses as he pops another hula hoop into his mouth, while simultaneously playing with one long strand of hair from the back of Sam’s head.

"That’s not paint, it’s a grey.”

Sam says as she lifts her chin up from Malcolm’s chest.

Together the pair are tangled across the length of the sofa, eating hula hoops and half watching television.

Both their children are in their rooms, Dean sleeping peacefully, while Chanelle is busy chatting away with her friends, it’s a perfect Sunday evening in Malcolm’s humble opinion.

Malcolm studies the long strand of hair and notes that as usual his wife is right.

"I’ve got an old packet of just for men in the garage if ye want it.”

He bites down on his hula hoop.

Sam immediately dissolves into a fit of giggles.

"What woman?”

It takes Sam a while to regain control.

"It’s just I’m not sure you’ve ever been in our garage, I wasn’t sure you even knew where it was.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes at his wife.

"Of course I know where the garage is. It’s where I keep all the odd bits from my old victims; I store them in the chest freezer.”

Malcolm plants a kiss against the top of Sam’s head and pulls her body a little closer to his own.

"Well, I hope none of the ‘bits’ are anywhere near the Yorkshire puds or ice lollies?”

"Yorkshire puds and ice lollies what a meal, ye really provide for me ye know.”

There she goes again laughing away.

Just then Sam’s sister Bex pops her head around the living room door.

"Right, it’s 9 o’clock I’m off to bed.”  
This is 40, although it was never like being 40 for him, Malcolm’s 40s were spent in a whirlwind of other peoples shit, abusive tirades and trying not to die from either a heart attack, stroke or murder.

"See ye in the morning, love.”

Malcolm nods in the direction of his sister-in-law, who despite everything is actually going to miss when she finally vacates their home along with her small son.

As much as Malcolm had been looking forward to normality being Sam, Chanelle, Dean, the dog, the rabbits, the fish and of course himself, he’s going to miss not having a baby-sitter on tap.

He chews on another hula hoop, while Sam and Bex share a conversation with their eyebrows, it’s a twin thing, and even the non-identical ones are weird.

Once Bex is gone, things go a little quiet and Malcolm feels Sam’s body tense, finally he hopes he’s going to know what the fuck is going on with her.

"Malc.”

Sam says softly.

"Yes love?”

Sam gives a little sigh and Malcolm knows she’s about to back out dramatically from asking or telling him something she’s been struggling with for what feels like forever.

"Sam, ye know ye can tell me anything? Other than of course ‘I want a divorce’.”

Sam lifts her head up and catches Malcolm’s gaze.

"How would you feel if we had a mixed faith wedding, only I’ve never done the whole big Jewish nuptials thing, and I know it would mean a lot to my Mum. ”

A mixed faith wedding is that it, is that what has been stressing her out?

Although come to think of it, Malcolm hasn’t had a faith in such a long time, he guess what Sam is really asking is if there wedding can just be Jewish.

"Love, I just want to marry ye again, properly this time. I don’t fucking care if ye want to do that on the moon or in an active fucking volcano, I just love ye.”

Sam kisses him and it’s one of those proper romantic film style kisses that should best be accompanied by an orchestra or rain, but since Malcolm has neither of these on hand he makes do with the beating of his own heart.


	5. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Father's Day here in the UK, so I've written a Dad related chapter for Malcolm.

Something had been wrong; Malcolm’s highly developed ‘shit-ohmmeter’ had been going off since he’d opened his eyes that morning.

He’d been rushed off his feet what with Sam off approving cover-art for her new book series and Bex at work, the childcare and by that Malcolm meant walking Dean to primary school and taking care of Baby Sammy feel entirely on his shoulders, not that he ever minded, fuck he’d have taken looking after a fussy toddler and a five year old over babysitting ministers any day.

Every now and then however while he’d paused to empty the dishwasher or the washing machine Malcolm had been gripped by a sudden sense of panic, which had only increased throughout the day until Sam had returned with Dean following along in her wake.

Malcolm had held his son and then his wife, happy that they had both returned to the family home safe and in one piece, well two pieces.

"Has everything been alright, Malc?”

Sam had asked with a concerned frown as Malcolm had pulled her into yet another hug.

Despite the fact that Malcolm could tell by the tone in her voice that Sam thought he may have lost his mind he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wanting to touch every part of her just to know she’d been there back with him.

"Have you had some lunch?”

Sam had asked when Malcolm had finally let her go and she’d been able to shed her bag and blazer.

Malcolm’s response had been a shake of the head.

"Perfect, I haven’t had any lunch yet either, so I’ll make a start on that. Deano why don’t you help me pick out some fruit for dessert?”

Sam took Dean’s hand in her own and led him in the direction of the fridge.

As he’d watched the pair move across the kitchen Malcolm had felt that old sense of panic return.

Chanelle.

Malcolm had needed to see his daughter.

"I’m just popping out for a minute, love.”

He told Sam his voice full of distraction as he reached for the car keys she’d left behind on the kitchen table.

 

"Malc.”

Malcolm heard Sam say his name as he closed the front door behind him.

As he’d slid into the car he always thought of as Sam’s since she did the bulk of their family driving Malcolm had known he was being ridiculous utterly and completely.

The traffic was heavy, it was London and he had been driving of course it had been heavy and by the time he’d finally found a parking space close to Chanelle’s school it had been kicking out time.

Malcolm had scanned the crowd of girls that had flowed from the school; he’d been out of the car as soon as he’d spotted Chanelle’s best friend and Mary Drake’s youngest child, Artemisia Drake, who had been standing alone.

Malcolm knew that the girls always walked home together.

When Chanelle didn’t appear, Malcolm had been out of the car and clutching the keys tightly.

"Artie.”

Artemisia had practically shed her skin as Malcolm had approached her.

That had not been a good sign.

"Mr Tucker.”

The young teenager had blinked at him from behind her large glasses.

"I’ve come to pick ye and Chanelle up from school, is Chanelle still inside, is she in trouble again?”

He’d hoped that his daughter was in trouble again.

Artemisia had crumbled before him.

"Oh Mr Tucker I’m so sorry, I promised Chanelle I wouldn’t say, only she’s gone to see her Mum. I thought she’d be back by now.”

His senses hadn’t been off something had been wrong.

Artemisia Drake had appeared on the point of tears.

"It’s alright Artie ye get off home now.”

Malcolm had tried to soothe the young girl who’d rewarded him with a watery smile.

As soon as Artemisia was headed off in the direction of home, Malcolm had dashed across the road and back into the car.

He’d pressed the button on the ignition and known exactly where he was going.

Malcolm found Chanelle sitting on the grass in front of a mound, unlike all the other graves that surrounded them, the grave of Chanelle’s birth Mother had been unmarked.

"Alright lass?”

Malcolm asked as he creaked into the space next to his daughter.

Chanelle had simply nodded, but had remained her usual quiet self.

"This is a nice spot.”

Malcolm said.

Chanelle had nodded as she’d yanked a clump of grass up between her fingers.

He’d waited, waited for her to speak and slowly the panic he’d been feeling all day had subsided.

"I know she wasn’t the best Mum, she wasn’t like Sam.”

Chanelle said softly.

"Before Dean’s tosser of a Dad came along things were good and we were happy. Dean’s never going to remember her is he?”

Malcolm understood her pain and her concern, but he respected the girl at his side enough not to lie to her.

"No he probably won’t, lass.”

Chanelle had stoically nodded again.

"I lost my Dad when I was in my twenties and my Mum when I was in my fifties, I still miss them, everyday, and I hate the things I can’t remember about them, especially my Dad.”

He’d forgotten the sound of his Dad’s voice that was the worst thing.

"Ye can help Dean, ye can lend him all of ye’re memories.”

The expression on Chanelle’s face had lifted.

"When we get home, ye can make a list of all the thing you remember about ye’re Mum and ye can save it until Dean is ready.”  
Chanelle got to her feet and held out her hand for Malcolm to take.

"Let’s go home then.”

As Malcolm got to his feet, Chanelle had asked.

"Did you bring the car?”

Malcolm had rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I brought the car.”


	6. Long Live the Queen

"How many speeches is your sister planning on giving?”

Sam asks in hushed tones as Malcolm watches her hop from foot to foot.

"I think she might be finished, no, she was just asking for a refill.”

He says against the side of Sam’s head.

She smells fucking fantastic.

Malcolm rests one hand on Sam’s waist and pulls her a little tighter against his own body.

He attempts to turn his attention back to his younger sister Cat, who is dressed as Marie-Antoinette, in the ballroom of her massive fuck-off mansion celebrating her 40th Birthday for the fifth time.

How far they have both come, although Malcolm’s certain that their old Da would not have approved of the idea of both his children ending up kept people, especially not kept people to English spouses.

Malcolm is the only person at his sister’s party who is not dressed in the regalia of the pre-Revolution French Court, he’s wearing a Paul Smith suit and his sister can just fuck off.

Sam looks amazing as usual, especially in her corset, which is doing wonders for her tits.

The massive powdered wig he could take or leave.

"I really need a wee.”

Sam exclaims in hushed, but anxious tones.

Malcolm tries not to laugh, but he can’t help himself.

"Malcolm, I’m serious, this corset is murder on my bladder.”

Sam pouts at him and Malcolm wants to kiss her.

"Use the disabled; it’s the door in the corner.”

"You’re sister has a disabled toilet?”

Malcolm grins down at his wife and shrugs.

"It’s for the general public, for when they pay for the privilege of visiting.”

Malcolm watches as Sam eyes the door to the disabled toilet.

"Oh fuck this, your sister would love it, if I peed myself during one of her speeches.”

Sam hands him her glass of champagne and makes for the toilet, Malcolm watches her leave with an indulgent smile.

Malcolm turns his attention back to his younger sister, his only sister, the baby of his family, who has won a round of applause from her selected guests.

He remembers her wedding, which had been a C of E cathedral affair, the first Tucker to ever get married in a fucking cathedral, their Mother had compared it to the royal wedding, Charles and Diana’s, at least Cat and Trevor’s had, had a better outcome.

If you overlook Malcolm’s niece’s true parentage, Jamie-fucking-McDonald, or Trevor’s bout of cancer.

Malcolm’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

NEED HELP.

It’s Sam.

Still clutching her glass of Champaign, Malcolm edges his way towards the toilet.

Resting the glass on a nearby marble topped table, he knocks on the door as lightly as he can.

Malcolm finds Sam in a tangle of skirts with the laces on the back of her corset hanging lose.

"How the fuck did ye get yerself in this state?”

Malcolm asks with a chuckle.

"Malc, don’t laugh at me, I’m not use to so many skirts.”

Malcolm decides in the confines of the disabled toilet to be a good husband and do whatever Sam asks.

"What do ye want me to do?”

Sam turns her back towards him.

What a back.

Malcolm tries to concentrate on the task ahead of him, but Sam’s back is so distracting and her skin so smooth.

Before he can stop himself his lips are against the curve of Sam’s neck.

"Malc.”

Sam giggles.

Her giggle drives him practically mad.

He backs her up against the tiled wall and then it’s all kissing and heaving bosoms and he barely notices that they’re in a toilet.

"Long live the Queen.”

Malcolm exclaims as he tries to find his way under Sam’s skirts.


	7. The Marrying Kind

With a wide yawn Bex shuffled her way into the sunlit kitchen.

The light burned the back of her eyes causing her to wince.

She feels as if she has been hollowed out with a spoon, that’s what happens when your 18 month old son decides that sleeping just isn’t for him anymore.

Everything aches and she feels about 100 years old.

Sam is sat at the kitchen table eating a crumpet and looking refreshed.

The cow.

"What time did he eventually get off?”

Sam asks as Bex slips into the seat in front of her.  
"Just now. I think I’m going to die.”

Bex isn’t usually the one who over exaggerates, that’s usually Sam, and even now she doesn’t feel as if she is actually exaggerating, no she feels like death is a real possibility.

"Nice crumpets.”

Sam says and takes another bite.

"They’re from Simon.”

Bex replies.

"Your boyfriend buys you crumpets?”

Sam is never going to let Bex forget the boyfriend thing.

"You’ve met him, he’s awkward, and he never knows what to do with his hands.”

Sam smiles.

Bex doesn’t.

"Did you have fun at Malcolm’s sister’s birthday party?”

Bex changes the subject.

"It was alright, Cat was dressed as Marie Antoinette and I had sex with Malcolm in a toilet.”

Bex has absolutely no idea what to do with that last piece of information.

"Good for you, that sounds like fun.”

Sam giggles.

"Where is Malcolm?”

Bex asks as she glances around the kitchen searching for her brother-in-law.

"Still asleep, I think all the excitement wore him out.”

Sam says.

"Have you got any plans for today?”

Other than being dead…

"I had some vague plan for brunch with Simon in Borough Markets, but to be honest I’m just not sure I can face all the talking and standing up straight, plus like Malcolm, my son needs his rest.”

Sam’s face does a funny thing.

"Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Sam asks and Bex feels confused.

"Which bit?”

"The bit where Sammy meets Simon, he’s a bit young?”

Now Bex really is confused and she must show it on her face because the next thing Sam is speaking again.

"It’s just if you’re not serious about Simon then do you really want Sammy to meet a strange man.”

"Who said I wasn’t serious about Simon? Look just because I’ve not immediately married or moved in with every man I’ve ever fucked, doesn’t mean I’m going to have some revolving door in my bedroom.”

Bex is angry.

"I wasn’t and I haven’t moved in with or married everyone,”

Bex cuts Sam off.

"You’re a serial monogamist. You lived with that fucking mushroom Adam Kenyon for months simply because he gave you an orgasm once. You don’t have rebound sex, you have rebound marriages.”

It’s Sam’s turn to get angry.

"My marriage to Malcolm is not a rebound.”

"That’s true, but think of all the time you would have saved if you’d stopped wasting your time with Adam Kenyon, when it was clear to everyone with half a brain that it was Malcolm you really wanted.”

Sam’s cheeks flash scarlet, which is never a good sign.

Sam opens her mouth to counter Bex’s barb, but Bex shuts her down.

"Do you know what, I am going to brunch with Simon and I will drag my tired son along with me. I don’t give a fuck.”

With that Bex stomps out of the kitchen, up the stairs and promptly falls asleep for 7 hours.


	8. Sam's Bit

"What’s wrong with Sam?”

Chanelle asks as she leans in against Malcolm on the sofa.

What’s wrong with Sam is a question that has been occupying him for most of the day.

The silence, the huffing, if he didn’t know better Malcolm would think that he was to blame, but he does know better.

"I’ll have a talk to her.”

Malcolm assures his daughter.

"You better, she’s got a face like a slapped arse.”

Chanelle warns him, before turning her attention back to the television.

 

 

Once Dean is safely tucked up in bed and Chanelle is locked away in her room starting her homework for Monday morning, Malcolm finds Sam in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher and huffing to herself.

"Alright love?”

He asks as he casually edges towards his wife.

"Oh me, no I’m fine, I’m absolutely fine.”

The way Sam bangs down one of Baby Sammy’s favourite plastic eating bowls tells Malcolm that his wife is anything but fine.

"Ye sure, only ye don’t seem like ye self?”

Malcolm watches as his wife’s shoulders become suddenly tense.

"I’m fine.”

Sam practically bites his head off and Malcolm decides to retreat back into the safety of the living room.

 

After a good bit of sighing and huffing Malcolm finally switches the light on.

"Are ye sure ye’re alright love?”

Malcolm asks Sam who has her back facing away from him.

Sam shrugs one shoulder.

Malcolm rests a hand against his cheek and just feels utterly tired.

"I really need to sleep love.”

"I wasn’t aware that I was stopping you.”

Sam fires back.

"Well ye are?”

Suddenly Sam is up on her feet with her pillow in hand.

"Right well, if that’s how you feel I sleep downstairs.”

Malcolm sits up and grabs Sam by her forearms before she has a chance to escape.

"What the fuck is going on?”

He asks in his calmest of tones.

Sam blinks once, twice and then starts to cry.

Malcolm can’t bare it when Sam cries and immediately his arms are out ready to comfort his wife.

Sam sniffles against his t-shirt.

"I wasn’t trying to meddle.”

Which is Sam speak for ‘I really was trying to meddle, but for the right reasons’.

Malcolm pats Sam’s head softly.

"Want to talk about it?”

Malcolm asks carefully and Sam nods.

Despite the tears and the snot, Malcolm risks a kiss.

"Bex, wanted to take Sammy out to brunch with Simon and I told her I didn’t think that was a very good idea.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"Ye had a point, what poor fucker wants to be strapped into a seat and forced to spend time with Simple Simon?”

Simple Simon earns Malcolm a punch on the upper arm.

"Ow.”

"Don’t be a baby.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes again.

"I just think that if she’s not serious about Simon, it’s a bad idea letting Sammy get to know him.”

Although Malcolm agreed with Sam, he wasn’t sure it had been her place to say anything, after all he’d knowingly let Trevor Darling as dim as he was rich, become the father of his nephew Colin, who is turning out to be just as bright as his Dad.

Lord only knows what sort of flavour of raving psychopath his niece Issy will eventually become with both Tucker and McDonald DNA running around inside that poor little body of hers.

"Who says this thing with Simp…Simon, won’t last?”

Malcolm managed to right the ship just before too much of the simple had slipped out.

"Because I know my sister.”


	9. Bex's Bit

Bex is angry.

Really, really angry and she’s been that way since the conversation with Sam.

How dare her sister judge her?

Alright, so Bex had done a fare bit of judging right back at Sam, but that wasn’t the point her sister had provoked it, deserved it.

Bex isn’t able to shake the thought that Sam might be right, that introducing Sammy to Simon Foster would be a mistake because they were never going to last.

They hadn’t lasted the first time and sooner or later one of them would fuck it up, probably Simon and then Bex would react and fuck up even more.

The problem is that Bex really doesn’t want things to be awful this time because she likes Simon Foster, she really properly absolutely…

Shit.

Does she?

No of course she doesn’t…

But does she though?

Out of all the people she could have fallen in love with, and not to boast, but there have been a good few, why has she had to go and fall in love with Simon Foster, he’s an idiot and actual idiot…

But he’s her idiot.

 

Everything is always a mad last minute panic when it comes to kids and it reminds Malcolm of his days back in Number 10, but at least he’s certain that with Chanelle and Dean, his own children, will eventually grow out of forgetting their lunch/homework, being sick/deciding today is not the day for clothes.

Despite how much Malcolm enjoys the push-pull of everyday family life, he’s not getting any younger and when Chanelle and Sam are finally out of the house and he’s alone with just the boys, Dean and Sammy, he often ends up just sitting at the kitchen table staring into space, while his body tries very hard to recalibrate and not die.

Not dying is very important because Malcolm loves his life.

There was a time when the sweet, blessed hand of death would have been something of a relief or if nothing else a rest, but not any more.

With one hand keeping a watchful eye on Dean and Sammy as the pair soak up some much needed vitamin…is it B or C or D, Malcolm always forgets, anyway the boys are happy playing in the garden together, while he treats himself to a guilty pleasure, the one cup of coffee that Sam allows him to have in the morning.

His morning brew, thicker than tar and twice as deadly.

The sound of the front door slamming disrupts Malcolm’s routine. 

"Did ye forget something again, woman?”

Sam has really let the organisation side of her personality slide since they got married.

Turning in his seat Malcolm is surprised to see Bex wearing her ugly cabin crew uniform stalking towards him.

He hasn’t seen much of his sister-in-law, who has been keeping a low profile since her argument with Sam.

"Ye’re back from work early?”

He observes as Bex storms into the kitchen.

"I’ve got a migraine.”

Bex says.

Malcolm believes her she looks utterly terrible.

"Where’s Sammy?”

Bex asks with a wince.

"He’s out in the garden with Dean.”

"On top of everything else, I’m a crap Mum as well.”

Malcolm’s not use to this, despite the fact that he likes Bex quite a bit, they’ve never really shared any moments like this, not in all the time that his sister-in-law and her son have been living with Sam and him.

"Ye’re not a crap Mum.”

Malcolm does his best to reassure her.

"You’re very sweet Malcolm Tucker.”

Bex says softly as she settles down into the seat opposite.

"I’m sorry for all the shit I said to Sam, I didn’t mean it.”  
Yes she did.

"Yes, ye did.”

"Yeah, I did.”

Bex finally agrees.

"Talk to her, don’t talk to me.”

Malcolm had told Bex.

"The problem is, I know she’s right.”

Bex admits softly.

"I know, I’m going to spoil everything.”


	10. The Make-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter about making-up...

"Ye should speak to ye’re sister.”

Malcolm told Sam ambushing her from almost the moment she walked through their front door.

"I will, I just,”

Sam begins to explain tiredly, but Malcolm quickly cuts her off.

"I know ye had that argument, but ye should put that aside and talk to her.”

Malcolm was doing his very best to aid Sam without telling her outright about Bex’s admission.

Thinking, Sam slips her handbag off her shoulder and hangs it on the banister, she’s had a pig of a day with meeting and interviews and planning another trip to New York, who would have thought making it in America would be so hard…

"By the way, welcome home love.”

Malcolm says as something of an afterthought as he leans forward and plants a kiss on Sam’s lips.

"I cooked and by that love I mean I picked up the phone and ordered Domino’s Pizzas finest.”

Pizza on a Monday night, Sam rolls her eyes, but she’s too tired to complain and after all it’s almost the summer holidays, well it will be the summer holidays after Tuesday, so who is she to stop the kids from having a treat.  
"Wine.”

Sam says.

"Still in the fridge where ye left it.”

Malcolm tells his wife with a wide grin.

After this brief exchange Malcolm heads on upstairs, while Sam continues on into the kitchen, where she finds her sister sat at the table.

"Did you have a good day?”

Sam asks tentatively as she opens the fridge and pulls out a half full bottle of white wine.

"Yea, you?”

Bex replies with a heavy sigh.

"Sam. Bex.”

Both women say at exactly the same time, they glance at each other before dissolving into laughter.

"Twinning.”

Bex smiles and Sam joins her at the kitchen table.

"Are we okay?”

Sam asks her sister cautiously.

"We’re always okay.”

Bex explains and Sam is flooded with relief, she has always hated arguments with her sister.

"What about you and Simon, how are you feeling about that?”

Sam doesn’t beat around the bush and just asks the question out right, after all wasn’t that exactly what Malcolm was telling her to do.

"Hummm, I think I might love him a bit.”

Bex admits and Sam is in a state of shock since in all the time they have known each other her sister has never admitted to loving anyone, well any man, ever.


	11. Revelations and So On...

To say that Sam is stunned by her sister’s revelation is something of an understatement.

Bex has never admitted to ‘sort of loving’ any man in all the time that they have both been active in the world of dating, which is quite a long time.

Sam’s never even heard Bex say it in relation to Sammy’s Dad.

So, the fact that the first man Bex has ever admitted having feelings for, that extended beyond the average is Simon Foster is something of a real shock.

Because, and Sam’s not trying to be mean when she thinks this, but it is Simon Foster, the world’s most awkward man at life.

Thinking about it a little deeper however, Sam realises that she should have seen such a turn of events on the horizon, after all Bex and Simon Foster had been having something of an on-off courtship…

Shit, did she just actually, really think the word ‘courtship’.

Is that what it’s going to be like after she turns forty in October, she’ll start using ‘courtship’ in sentences.

Anyway…

Bex has been able to forgive Simon Foster more than she has ever forgiven any other man.

Sam realises that she hasn’t said anything for a long time, and she watches as the expectant and slightly embarrassed expression on her sister’s face begin to change.

"Does he know?”

Sam asks as she scrabbles around for something to say.

"No.”

Bex says.

That’s not good.

"You should tell him. After all he’s already told you.”

Bex expression turns pained.

"You realises we’ve just had an entire conversation about a man?”

"Don’t try and distract me.”

Sam warns her sister.

"Tell him.”

 

 

Bex can’t actually believe that she is doing what Sam told her because she never listens to her sister’s good advice, not that this is good…

Oh god, she thinks she might actually throw up.

Why is it so hard to be open with people, Sam seems to manage it, she wears her heart on her sleeve, so why can’t Bex be like that…

Bex rings the doorbell and it isn’t long until the light in the hall switches on and Simon Foster appears at the door with a yawn.

He starts to speak as Bex barges her way into his house, but she quickly shuts his stuttering up with a look.

Simon Foster is silent.

"I’ve come here to say something and then I’m going to go.”

Bex tells him.

Simon looks at her and suddenly she can’t face it.

"Don’t look at me.”

Bex orders and realises that she must sound absolutely mental.

"Are you dumping me?”

Simon asks with more than a hint of trepidation.

"Shut up.”

Bex’s barks at him harshly.

"I am just going to say what I need to say and then I’m going to go.”

She tells a terrified looking Simon Foster.

"I love you.”

There it’s out in the world, she’s said it.

Bex zips up the front of her hoody and heads for the front door.

"There I said it.”

Bex has the front door open and is on the point of stepping out into the cool, late evening air, when she feels a hand against the top of her arm hold her in place.

She turns back to tell Simon off, but suddenly and to her great surprise she is back up against the hallway wall with Simon’s tongue down her throat.

This is different.

Simon Foster is being all commanding.

Bex likes this.

The front door slams.


	12. Shark Week

Breathing so hard she’s pretty sure that THIS is what it’s like to run a marathon and with her unattractive, yet practical yoga bra up around her neck, Bex dissolves into a fit of giggles.

"I think that’s it.”

Simon Foster says with a heavy sigh, before adding.

"I really think you’ve ruined my cock for life, how can I go back to Shark Week now, after that.”

Bex turns her attention away from the ceiling and sitting up she attempts to take her bra off dragging it around her neck for a moment before finally finding the clasp.

"I have shagged you before.”

Bex says as she casually tosses her bra down towards the end of the bed, before settling back down in the space next to Simon.

"Well yes, but,”

He’s getting all fumbled again.

"this, this is different, because I know that you, that you, love me.”

Even the fumbling doesn’t really bother Bex anymore, in fact she likes it, and it’s a nice antidote to her own directness/avoidance.

"Come to Bournemouth.”

Simon says suddenly out of the blue.

"Bournemouth, as in Bournemouth the most romantic destination on the planet?”

Bex grins as she rolls her body in to face Simon.

"No, as in conference. Come to the conference, you can be my contraband, I can smuggle you into my hotel room.”

At that suggestion Bex snorts.

"Why is it that with you we always enter sex doll territory frighteningly quickly? You’re not even going to show me the sights of Bournemouth are you; you’re just going to keep me zipped up in your hold-all until you fancy a shag.”

"I’m not sure that there is anything to see in Bournemouth.”

The bed shifts as Simon turns to face Bex.

"Tell that to a native Bournemouth-onian.”

"That doesn’t sound right.”

Simon wrinkles the bridge of his nose and Bex leans forward to kiss him.

"I can’t come anyway, I can’t leave Sammy and I can’t leave work.”

Simon’s face falls and Bex tries to cheer him up by saying.

"It’s only a week, what’s the worst that could happen?”

 

Bex does the walk of shame back from Simon Foster’s house with the hood of her hoodie up despite the summer heat, because her hair looks as if she has been electrocuted repeatedly.

She could probably have taken the bus or a taxi, but in the end she pretends to be out for an early morning jog, because that’s what she’s dressed for.

Mid jog however, Bex remembers that she’s forgotten her bra and stops running, before one of her breasts knocks her out.

In the end she just tries to get back to Sam’s house as quickly as she possibly again.

Once safely on the corner of Malcolm and Sam’s road, Bex sees a taxi waiting outside.

As she slowly approaches Bex’s eyes widen in horror at the man who emerges from the taxi.

It’s Chris.

Tall, handsome, Australian Chris, who also happens to be the Father of her son, Sammy.

Bex wastes no time…

"What the fuck are you doing here, it’s been eighteen fucking months?”


	13. That One Time Chris Hemsworth Was Standing in Your Back Garden On A Monday Morning

"Where did you go?”

Sam asks as Chanelle shuffles back into the bedroom, replete with slippers, pyjamas and fluffy blue dressing gown. 

"I went to get some jaffa cakes.”

Chanelle says as she joins Sam at the window.

Sam glances at the offending packet.

"Have you been hiding those?”

Sam asks in horror and Chanelle’s response is to simply shrug and pop one of the jaffa cakes into her mouth.

"What’s happening now?”

Chanelle enquires as she watches Bex have an argument with a man she’s never seen before in the back garden.

"I don’t know, I can’t hear anything.”

Sam frowns.

"Let’s open the window.”

Chanelle suggests as if no-one has ever heard of such a principal before.

"No, they’ll see us.”

"They won’t see us, anyway were huddled around a window staring down on them, chances are they already know we’re watching.”

From some reason Sam suddenly crouching down as if she was a giant, frightened rabbit illicit a chuckle of mirth from Malcolm who is still lying in their bed with Dean cuddled in next to him, and the little boy is fast asleep.

"I never thought I’d say this, but get up of ye’re knees love.”

Malcolm teases Sam, who looks at him with daggers while Chanelle makes gagging noises.

Finally Sam reappears at the window.

"Who is he?”

Chanelle questions.

"He’s Sammy’s Dad.”

"He’s better looking that Simon Foster, he looks a bit like Chris Hemsworth.”

At Chanelle’s observation Malcolm’s spider/dark prince of spin senses start to tingle, because Sam fancies Chris Hemsworth.

"He is good looking.”

Sam observes and Malcolm feels a spike of jealousy.

Easing himself up out of the bed so carefully that he doesn’t wake Dean, Malcolm joins Sam and Chanelle at the window to stare down on this interloper.

Chanelle’s right as usual, he does look a lot like Chris Hemsworth.

Malcolm never thought he’d think this, but for the first time ever he’d like nothing more than to see Simon Foster stupid, fat face.


	14. The big hairy guy was Kristoff and he just smelt like a reindeer, remember...

Malcolm eyed the tall, blonde, handsome and exotic stranger who sat at his kitchen table and who Sam had been in the process of making a cup of tea for.

It isn’t that Malcolm thinks Sam’s head is about to be turned, he knows her far too well for that and trusts her implicitly, her respects her completely, but he’s, he’s old, he feels old and grey and usurped compared to Chris.

"This is Christof, ah Chris.”

Bex introduces Chris to the rest of the family in a fluster and Malcolm’s not sure he’s ever seen his sister-in-law in such a state before.

"Reindeer.”

Dean immediately squeals and points at Chris.

"Stinky Reindeer.”

Dean giggles and his high pitched laughter is joined by Chris chuckle.

"Reindeers are better than people.”

A Frozen reference of course, because Chris has to be perfect and completely in touch with himself in just the right way, already Malcolm knows he hates Christof.

"The big hairy guy was Kristoff and he just smelt like a reindeer, remember.”

Chanelle jumps in and catches Dean around the middle.

Hive mind, because Malcolm can tell that his daughter is less than impressed with the stranger as well.

Good girl.

Malcolm flashes her a toothy smile.

"It was one sugar, right?”

Sam asks as she deposits a mug of steaming tea down in front of Chris.

"Oh yeah perfect, cheers.”

Chris is so easy, easy with Sam, with Dean, Malcolm has never felt at ease.

"Where are you staying?”

Sam asks and her voice is in a higher pitch than usual, Malcolm can tell that’s she’s trying to do that thing where she appears upbeat, but is in fact terrified/angry.

"Nowhere, Chris was under the impression that he’d be staying here with me.”

Bex says, and there is nothing at all repressed about her anger.

Malcolm pulls Sam down into the seat next to him.

"Chanelle, why don’t ye take Dean into the living room, put the Frozen sing-a-long on for him.”  
Chanelle is unusually compliant as she leads Dean out of the kitchen.

"You’ve got great kids.”

Chris comments.

"We rather like them.”

Malcolm says as her rather possessively takes Sam’s hand in his own.

Things do a strange flip-flop as Chris casts and eye over Bex and says…

"Just gettin’ in Bex.”

Attempting to stop things before they start up again, Sam tries to change the subject, but it’s all too far gone for that.

"Yeah, I spent the night with my boyfriend.”

Bex snaps back with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Malcolm can’t help it, but every time Bex refers to Simon as her boyfriend he wants to laugh out loud, but he’s been told off by Sam for doing things like that, so he tries not to.

"Boyfriend, that didn’t take you very long.”

If only Chris fucking knew the saga of Bex and Simon Fluster.

"Oh Chris, remind me again, how’s the wife?”

Bex snaps and she has no idea how much she reminds Malcolm of Sam, who also always has to have the last word in any fight.

Malcolm feels Sam’s hand tense in his palm.

"Enough with the theatrics,”

Malcolm warns Bex and Chris very much in the way that he tells off Chanelle and Dean.

"...ye’ve given the neighbours more than enough to fucking talk about for one morning.”

Bex appears unrepentant, of course she fucking does, she’s Sam’s sister, but Chris seems adequately sheepish.

"Can I see Sam?”

Chris asks with a note of contrition.  
Sam tenses again.

Bex eyes are also wide.

"Don’t, don’t call him that, he’s Sammy.”

If naming a baby after a living relative was such a big deal, Malcolm’s not sure why Bex went and did it.

"Alright, can I see my son now please?”


	15. 4 Second Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one as it's the bank holiday.

"I’m not saying that I like Simon Foster, but if I have to choose, I’d rather Bex was with him than,”

"The fucking Chris Hemsworth look-a-like.”

Malcolm finishes Sam’s sentence for her.

Sam roles her eyes.

"Who says there even is a choice?”

Malcolm says, as he catches sight of Chanelle and Dean who are filling up on extra toppings in the ice cream factory and wishes that Sam would have let him have seconds, but then he remembers that he’s still carrying a fare bit of weight from Christmas, so it’s probably a good thing…probably.

"Look, what I’m saying is that with Foster, Bex is less likely to move back to Australia.”

Ah, Malcolm gets it now.

"Ye want her and Sammy to stay in London?”

"I know it’s selfish,”

Sam gushes.

"I know I’m being selfish, but having her back, it’s been wonderful and getting to watch Sammy grow-up, I don’t want to lose that.”

Malcolm takes Sam’s hand in his own and gives it a squeeze.

He thinks about his own sister Cat and his nephew and niece and how much of their growing up he’d missed out on.

"So, we’re backing Foster’s horse.”

Malcolm grins and plants a kiss on Sam’s cheek.

"Can you two knock that off, it’s bad enough at home, but we’re in public.”

Chanelle rebukes them as soon as she returns to the restaurant table.

"Shut up or it’s back to the workhouse for ye.”

Malcolm warns his daughter, who ignores him and tucks into her massive bowl of ice cream.


	16. 9 Calories

As Malcolm exits the en-suite bathroom, Sam suddenly appears to him looking resplendent as ever with a messy bun, baggy t-shirt and reading glasses.

Propped up in their bed with what looks to him like a million pillows behind her, Sam is busy scrolling through Pintrest for their wedding.

As Malcolm begins his usual nocturnal routine of reducing all the unnecessary pillows on his side of the bed to just the one, he gives the summer weight duvet a quick sniff.

"I still reckon this thing smells like piss.”

Sam pulls off her reading glasses and just looks at him.

"Well Malc, you’re not getting any younger.”

Sam tries desperately hard to keep from smiling, but fails completely.

For once Malcolm has no words, and despite the hint of piss that his is convinced still lingers on his side of the bed, he slides in next to his wife with a heavy sigh.

"I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

It’s been another long day, which has been finished off nicely by discovering that Charleston, the French Bulldog had managed to relieve himself on Malcolm’s side of the bed, which had been followed by a trip up to the loft to retrieve the spare duvet from vacuum packed storage.

Malcolm holds out his arm and Sam immediately rolls into the space next to him, with the side of her head against the crook off his arm and one hand resting on his stomach.

Its bliss and Malcolm could easily just fall asleep right there and then, but Sam opens her mouth and suddenly sleep is the last thing on Malcolm’s mind.

"I’ve been thinking and between us we need to lose about 10 stone ahead of the wedding.”

Weight-loss, and after he’d caved in and had that second bowl of ice cream.

Malcolm’s face must say everything, because suddenly Sam is looking at him with utter sympathy.

"It’s not just you.”

She says as she pats his rounded stomach.

"It’s me as well. I couldn’t get my favourite pair of jeans on the other day; I seem to have put all the weight on my thighs and my bum.”

"Well ye’re thighs have always been chunky.”

At the mention of Sam’s chunky thighs another part of Malcolm’s anatomy stirs.

"Parenting has made us fat.”

Sam observes.

If only Malcolm was fat on just his bum and his thighs, instead of what felt like being a whale all over.

"I’ve devised an exercise regime for both of us, which should have us looking our best by W-Day.”

This is what you get when you marry your PA.

"Is there any shagging.”

Malcolm asks hopefully.

"You only burn about 3 calories per minute.”

Sam giggles softly as she plants a kiss against Malcolm’s chin.

"That’s still 9 calories.”

Malcolm teases her and hears the dull thud of the Ipad falling onto the floor as he rolls Sam underneath him.

"I thought you we’re tired.”

Sam grins up at him in her baggy t-shirt.

"Listen love ye, between us, I’m not the one who fell asleep mid shafting.”

Sam blushes and Malcolm wants to…he’s not sure...god he loves her.

He buries his mouth against the curve of her neck and Sam exhales a contented little sigh as she pulls him closer.


	17. Chapter 17

"Thanks for letting me stay.”

Chris whispers softly as he smiles down at the form of his sleeping son.

Sammy looks so perfect so fast asleep, that it’s easy to forget all of the sleepless nights and the constant incidents of being shit and peed on.

If anyone had told Bex, pre-Sammy, that she would be happy to be covered in someone else’s sick she would have laughed in their face.

Despite the fact that Bex didn’t mind her son’s bowl movements ending up on her leg, she’s glad that their finally moving onto the stage where Sammy is a lot more in control of himself.

Talking and solid food, soon he’ll be going off to University.

"It’s not up to me; you should be thanking Sam and Malcolm.”

It was mainly Sam, although to be honest Malcolm usually just goes along with whatever her sister wants.

"They’re not really what I expected. From the way you always made your brother-in-law sound I thought he was some sort of,”

"He’s changed.”

Bex cuts Chris off before he can say anymore, and as she does so, she tries to recall the sort of impression she might have given her ex of Sam and Malcolm.

"This boyfriend of yours, when did that happen?”

It had all been going so well, they hadn’t argued for at least an hour, but…

"Why are you here is it because Eve has finally come to her senses?”

Eve, Chris long suffering wife and Mother to his other two children, Sammy’s half brothers.

"It’s been months, he’s my son. You just buggered off without telling me anything.”

Reluctantly, Bex mentally if not verbally agrees that Chris does have a point.

"So, how did you meet him?”

Chris asks keeping his voice low, to keep from waking their son.

"Well it was a funny thing, I was in the hospital and they just handed me this baby,”

"Alright, alright, smart arse.”

Bex grins as Chris gives in.

"I give up. But he is my son and I do have a right to know,”

"You’ve got a bed for the night, that’s about all the rights you have at the point in time.”

Bex warns Chris, who breaks into a roar of laughter, before covering his mouth as Sammy stirs.

"I've missed you, both of you.”

Chris adds.


	18. Simon Foster is in Love

Simon Foster can’t stop smiling.

He really should try to stop smiling.

But try as hard as he might, although he’s actually not trying at all.

Simon can’t seem to stop.

Bex Cassidy loves him.

Bex Cassidy loves him, actually.

He thinks about her, he can’t stop from thinking about her, but he tries to think about the first time they met.

2008, the year before the world learned what a prat Simon Foster is.

He hadn’t really believed it when someone had told him that Bex had been the twin sister of Malcolm Tucker’s PA.

The two women had looked nothing alike.

Sam was a curvy brunette, while Bex, she was a tall, willowy, redhead.

Simon Foster has always had a thing for redheads, his first proper girlfriend, Annabel, had been ginger.

Annabel, Simon hasn’t thought of her in years.

He’d tried to talk to her, not Annabel, Bex, he’d tried to talk to Bex.

Simon had made an attempt at proper, full sentences that weren’t entirely filled with self-doubt mid word.

She’d had a boyfriend and Simon had felt utterly crushed.

Now he is her boyfriend.

He’s the boyfriend of Bex Cassidy.

…and she loves him…

Simon doesn’t even care that Bex comes with baggage in the form of Malcolm Tucker, who happens to be the spouse of her twin sister.

Non-identical.

Non-identical twins run in families, perhaps…but no, he’s forty-five, Jesus forty-five years old when did that happen…five years after he hit forty…

Anyway he’s too old, too old ever to be a Dad and besides Bex already has a son, so she’s not likely at forty to want to do the whole thing all over again.

Simon will be happy just to be with her.

He should ask her to move in.

He should leave politics; he’s never really enjoyed it.

He could get a job as a lecturer or a columnist, Bex’s sister Sam is a successful children’s author perhaps she’s got some tips on writing a book.

Memoirs, Simon could write his memoirs, not that anyone would want to read them he suspects and of course for the sake of Bex he’d have to keep all the things about Malcolm out of the book.

It will be a very short book.

Simon phones Bex as soon as he gets out of the conference room.

She doesn’t pick up.

He phones her again as he’s trying to get his electric key card to work in the stupid hotel door.

She doesn’t pick up.

Simon hears her voice asking him to leave a message, the siren call of her voice.

He can’t bring himself to speak.

Simon can’t stop himself from calling her again.

This time she picks up.

"Hello you.”

Simon practically purrs down the phone at her.

Bex sighs heavily and something shifts.

Something has changed.

"Is everything, is everything alright.”

Simon asks carefully, silently dreading the answer.

"I’m not sure how to say this,”

She’s changed her mind.

"It’s Sammy’s Dad, Chris, he’s in the UK, he…”

Bex trails off.

That’s it then.

But Bex takes him by surprise when she says…

"I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home.”

Home, wherever Bex Cassidy is, is Simon Foster’s home.


	19. It's Even Hot in Glasgow

"It’s even hot in Glasgow.”

Malcolm complains bitterly after checking the weather for his erstwhile home town on the BBC weather app upon his phone.

"I stink.”

Chanelle admits and before commenting Sam takes a cursory sniff of her daughter, who doesn’t in fact ‘stink’.

"You’re not in Glasgow, Malc,”

Sam tells her husband who grumbles something darkly.

"…and you don’t stink.”

She informs Chanelle.

The three of them are melting away in the back garden and watching Dean chase around the French Bull dog Charleston, with an empty watering can.

Sam fans herself with her paperback as Malcolm and Chanelle fester in their chairs.

"Why don’t you invite Artie over?”

Sam says.

"Artie’s Dad has taken her skiing.”

"Lucky fucking kid, what I would give for some snow on my,”

Malcolm stops speaking as Sam fixes him with her best ‘shut the fuck up’ look.

Chanelle giggles.

"What happened to Hottie Mc-Reindeer?”

Chanelle asks.

The last time Sam had seen Chris he’d had a towel wrapped around his waist and…she fans herself a little harder at the thought.

Malcolm stares at his wife.

"Last time I saw him he was leaving the house with Bex and the buggy.”

Sam’s disappointed; she’d had hopes for Simon Foster.

"Bex was banishing him off to a Premier Inn.”

Malcolm tells Sam, who appears brighter at the thought that Simon Foster may be back in the running.  
"I fucking hate sunshine.”

Malcolm concludes after a while and Sam smiles, she loves her complicated and constantly moaning family.


	20. Schools a Bit Rubbish

Malcolm popped the second packet of boy’s pants into the trolley.

Before becoming a parent he’d had no idea how many pants children generally needed.

Chanelle and Dean are being occupied by Aunty Bex, while Malcolm and Sam are standing in the middle of their local branch of Marks and Spencer’s topping up on bits and bobs for Dean’s brand new school uniform.

"Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Sam asks and Malcolm’s immediate answer is of course…

"No.”

Without understanding the question.

Sam turns to stare at him a pained expression playing over her features.

"School is rubbish, maybe we should just keep Dean at home with us.”

While Malcolm whole heartedly agreed that school was in fact rubbish, he also didn’t think that keeping Dean at home was the right thing to do, plus Chanelle would get jealous.

"Love, school is a pile of cocks,”

Malcolm’s pile of cocks comment earns him a sniffy look for a nearby shop assistant.

Malcolm ignores said shop assistant and rests both his hands of Sam’s shoulders.

"…and I wish that Dean didn’t have to go, but he does.”

"We could teach him from home.”

Sam says hopefully.

"What about all his pals?”

Despite not actually being related, Dean takes after Sam with his pack of friends and the fact that everyone seems to like him, while Malcolm and Chanelle, well, they’re so alike that it’s scary.

"We can’t get out of this one can we?”

Sam’s large, chocolate brown eyes find Malcolm’s and he sighs.

"It’s a bit like prison all over again.”

Malcolm’s comment about prison earns a second sniffy look and a raised eyebrow.

"He’s so tiny Malc, and I just worry, I worry we won’t be there to take care of him.”

Malcolm utterly adores his sweet and caring wife, who he pulls into his arms.

He kisses the top of Sam’s head and feels the warmth of her lovely, squidgy body against his own.

Malcolm’s eyes widen as he wonders if he actually just thought of squidgy and silently vows never to tell Sam.

"Why are you always right?”

Sam’s huffs against Malcolm’s neck.

"I’m a witch.”

Sam giggles and Malcolm knows that everything is alright again.

As they fall back into selecting vests, Malcolm hopefully asks.

"After this, can we swing by the granny section and see what they’ve got in the way of massive nighties for ye?”

Sam smiles.

"Only if you pay.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"Ye’re the fucking celebrity author, I’m living off my pension, why do I have to fucking pay?”


	21. Australia in Camden Town

"Why aren’t you living here?”

Is Chris’ first question as Bex unlocks the front door of the flat that she’s currently paying rent on, but not yet living in.

The flat is nice enough and surprisingly roomy for London.

There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be living in the flat, but yet Bex, who has always prided herself on her independents, can’t seem to bring herself to leave her sister’s home.

Perhaps she’s waiting for something…

She’s certainly not waiting for Simon Foster, it will be years before he pulls his finger out.

No, the truth is that Bex just likes being close to Sam again, and letting her five-minute younger sister take care of her.

"Why aren’t you living with you’re boyfriend?”

Chris’ second question causes Bex to roll her eyes, and she pointedly ignores the father of her child as he slips off his backpack.

"You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call anyone your boyfriend before, not even me.”

Chris says as he casually surveys Bex’s flat.

He’s too tall for the low ceiling.

"That’s because I was your dirty little secret.”

Chris’ laughs and his smile, which is perfect just like the rest of him annoys Bex, and then he frowns and reaches out for her hand, and she suddenly feels something else, some sort of sorrow for the woman who would probably have leapt into his arms at hat point.

Bex ignores his hand.

"I’m sorry I fucked everything up.”

Chris says, as Bex joins him at the window.

It wasn’t all his fault, after all Bex had been well aware that he was married when she’d started sleeping with him.

Married and six years younger.

"If you’re serious about Sammy, about being part of his life, you can’t just introduce yourself to him and then expect me to fly out to OZ every 6 months. You have to come to us.”

Frustration clouds Chris’ beautiful face.

"Why don’t you just come home, your life is in Australia, your friends?”

That’s not true anymore.

"My visa,”

"Fuck the visa, Sammy’s my son, if we got married…”

Married…

Married…

Never.

In her whole life Bex has never wanted to marry anyone ever, and she knows that she’d never want to even up married to Chris.

"Did you just propose to me, while you’re still married to Eve?”

Boxed in, Chris runs a hand over his face.

"No.”

He admits truthfully, because they both know that Chris will never leave his wife.

Chris starts to speak, but Bex cuts him off.

"I’ve got to go, I’ve promised Sam I’ll go wedding dress shopping with her. Here’s the spare key.”

Bex hands the key that was meant for Simon Foster over to Chris.

Chris shadows her movements as she crosses the living room heading for the front door, Bex doesn’t look back at him as she leaves.


	22. Let's Grow Up

Simon sees her, her bright flash of russet hair picks her out in any crowd.

Instantly he feels himself smiling and moving faster.

Until of course the moment where he reaches the ticket barrier and suddenly he can’t seem to find his train ticket and there’s a queue building up behind him.

Of course there’s a queue and of course Simon can’t find his ticket, he hasn’t seen the woman he loves for days, of course this is the best way to impress her.

Bex is openly chortling at him.

Not laughing, it’s just enough to show that she is pleasantly amused by his usual antics, which of course bodes well for their future, or at least Simon hopes it does.

Finally he manages to locate his ticket, which was hiding in the pocket of his jacket all the time and escape through the barrier into the arms of the woman he is in love with.

Because as he appears before her, Bex wraps her arms around Simon’s neck and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s the sort of kiss people over and soon to be forty, probably shouldn’t engage in, in public, but for once Simon Foster could care less about what people think.

"I should go away more often.”

Simon smiles up at Bex, because of course she is taller than him and of course she will never stop wearing heels.

Despite all his other hang-ups, of which there are so MANY, Simon has never been the sort of person to expect his partner to cover for his lack of height, he’s short, that’s life.

"Don’t you dare.”

Bex warns him.

After all the kissing has stopped, Simon falls into the space next to Bex as he wheels his small trolley case along and holds her hand.

"Can we go back to yours?”

Simon asks in the genuine hope that Bex has finally moved into the flat she’s been paying so much money for.

The note of hesitation on her face tells him that she’s still living with her sister and Malcolm Tucker.

"Oh, why now?”  
Simon questions as they make their way out of the train station.

Bex stops, which causes Simon to stop, which causes the people behind them to grumble and complain LOUDLY.

"There’s something I need to tell you,”

Bex frowns.

"No, not need, need is wrong. There’s something that I want to tell you.”

Simon feels a familiar bubble of anxiety begin to build in his chest.

"It’s Chris,”

"Sammy’s Dad?”

Simon asks without thinking.

"You remembered?”

Bex says, and Simon stops himself from commenting on the fact that he’s unlikely to forget the name of the man who…

"What’s he fucking done now?”

Simon asks, remembering that the problem with Chris is that he tends not to do anything.

"He’s in the UK, he says he’s come to see Sammy, but he’s already asked me to move back to Australia with him twice.”

Something in Simon’s chest squeezes.

"Is that why you’re here?”

Bex frown deepens.

"Yeah, I thought we should break up in person, no you idiot, I’m here because I missed you.”

She kisses him again, and Simon realises that he’s in a grown-up relationship with a woman who wants to share her life with him, even the bits with her shitty useless ex.

"What are we going to do?”


	23. Other People's Weddings Pt.1

"Zip me up.”

Sam asks sweetly as she sweeps her long dark wavy hair over one shoulder and exposes the perfect skin of her back to Malcolm.

Sam’s skin probably isn’t perfect, but to Malcolm it is just like the rest of her.

After giving up on trying with his tie, Malcolm crosses the room and finds himself standing behind his wife and her perfect back.

The Hollyoaks’ theme is blaring up through the floor.

Malcolm now knows the Hollyoaks theme, off by fucking heart.

The closer he gets to Sam the better she smells.

She always smells nice, but it’s a wedding so she’s using the ‘special’ perfume she only brings out for anniversaries and birthdays and Christmas.

Suddenly attending a wedding is the last thing on Malcolm’s mind.

"No Malcolm, no monkey business, I’ve just done my hair.”

Sam warns him with a smile.

"For fuck sake woman, monkey business?”

He chuckles, before his lips find the shell of Sam’s ear.

Whether she knows it or not, Sam backs up against him and Malcolm’s smile widens.

It’s when he tries to kiss her neck that Sam spins around to face him and Malcolm wraps his arms around the rest of her, holding her in place without her really noticing.

Malcolm grins down indulgently on Sam’s slightly cross expression.

"Malc.”

Sam sighs and Malcolm leans down and plants a kiss on the tip of her nose.

Instantly she starts to laugh.

"Pre-wedding shag?”

Malcolm asks hopefully.

Sam’s on the point of saying yes, when something suddenly changes her mind. It’s probably something called being a ‘practical grown-up’, which is something Malcolm usually is, unless of course the chance of getting his leg over his wife suddenly appears.

"You’ll be lucky.”

Sam says, before she pulls him into a kiss, which smears her lipstick.

They part only when there is the sound of a thud, followed by crying.

"I know ye were set on the kids when we first got them, but I’ve kept the receipt and we can still take them back.”

Malcolm teases Sam.

He zips the back of her dress up and the pair hurry out of the bedroom.


	24. Notes on a Wedding

"Right, assembled family members, what did we learn from this wedding?"

Malcolm asked as he took a bite out of his burger.

"That you better feed the guests."

Chanelle responded from the back of the car, with her mouth filled with chips.

"There was food and it was very nice, just not in large quantities."

Sam responded.

From the rear view mirror Sam spotted Chanelle as she rolled her eyes.

"She's right. The food was microscopic."

Malcolm defended their daughter and Sam couldn't help but feel a swell of love for the pair of them.

"Can we have chips?"

Dean piped up.

"Yes."

Malcolm responded immediately.

Chips was not something Sam had planned for her wedding...wait their wedding, but now chips were clearly on the menu.

"Candy floss."

Dean giggled.

Before he could respond Sam shot Malcolm a look.

"We'll see."

Sam grinned at Malcolm's measured response.


	25. Meet the Parents...

It had been a long time since Simon Foster had been invited to meet anyones parents.

Bex had done a fair bit of prepping first.

Frank, her Dad liked music, but mostly The Rolling Stones, he also smoked in his shed and said ‘groovy’ a lot.

Simon had never met anyone who had ever said ‘groovy’.

Lesley, her Mum had a fondness for excessive gold jewellery, shoulder pads and hair spray.

Put simply, Frank and Lesley seemed like very different people, and yet they’d managed to be happy and make a go of a marriage for well over forty years, which is more than Simon felt sure that he would ever be able to accomplish.

"Mum, Dad, this is Simon.”

Bex had said as she’d introduced him.

"What, Simon, as in Simon?”

Lesley had asked.

"Cowell.”

Frank had set Simon off balance by laughing suddenly.

"No not Cowell, be serious Frank, your daughter is trying to introduce her boyfriend to you, when was the last time that, that happened?”

Lesley had snapped at her husband, who appeared not to notice.

"Well ah Malcolm, but your right love that was a while ago, I still had one stand of hair that wasn’t grey.”

Frank had chuckled and elbowed Simon in the ribs.

"That was Samantha.”

"Les, I do know, I can tell them apart now.”

Frank had laughed again, and Simon had felt horribly lost.

"Rebekha, yes?”

Simon had been a little non plused as Frank had asked the question before pulling Bex into a tight hug.

Other peoples families were always strange, or at least Simon had always thought they were.

"It’s groovy to meet you, Simon.”

Simon had felt completely lost as Frank went from holding his daughter to suddenly hugging him.

"Leave him alone Frank, you’re terrifying the poor boy.”

At the urging on his wife, Frank finally lets Simon go, and as he does so, Simon notices that Bex is smiling.

With the ice well and truly shattered, Bex asked Lesley.

"Who’s getting married this time?”

"Your cousin Charlotte.”

"Didn’t you read the invitation, darling?”

Frank said.

"Yea of course I did Dad,”

Simon was surprised as Bex had rolled her eyes and taken on the sulky demeanor of a teenager, so she had been a teenager once, with Bex it had never been easy to tell if she hadn’t just emergered into the world as a grown-up.


	26. Remembrance Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As stated the poem is called 'Greater Love' by Wilfred Owen.

Sam realised that she’d fallen in love with Malcolm Tucker on the 11th November 2010, or a day probably better known as Remembrance Sunday.

Since falling out of power and out of favour with the British Public, Sam hadn’t been called upon to scrafice her weekends in a bid to keep Malcolm’s world turning as his schedule had changed from one moment to the next.

Sadly this livestyle change had come along to late to save her marriage to Ed, although in hindsight no amount of weekends off would have made her former husband any the less gay.

Sam had loved Ed utterly and completely, so that was how she’d recognised the feeling the second time around when she’d walked into Malcolm’s office and had seen him looking washed out and depressed, while Ben Swain had gotten on his nerves. 

Her heart had literally skipped a beat at the sight of the man who had looked so grey, so warn.

Guiltily Sam had thought about Adam Kenyon, her boyfriend, no her accidental boyfriend, who she had only recently moved in with.

Eighteen months, she’d been going out with Adam for eighteen months, and at the sight of Malcolm, Sam had forgotten it all.

Only Sam could have made such a silly and reckless choice, because really even if Malcolm had felt the same way about her, what could he have offered her…

At least with Adam she’d had the chance at the classically ‘normal’ things of life, owning a home, having a baby, being bored shitless and drinking too much.

Sam already drunk at bit too much, so she was half way there.

Infatuation.

Sam had been infatuated before, she’d even fancied Dan Miller for about a week back in 2006.

But then everyone even Malcolm had fancied Dan Miller for about a week back in 2006.

She’d been frightened of the future with Adam, so her brain had been attempting to derail her with Malcolm.

Fucking brain, she should have had that lobotomy, when it had been on offer.

A lobotomised Sam would never have had to contened with such things.

Sam had imagined life with Malcolm full of shouting and staying up until silly o’clock, and being completely stressed all the time.

Anyway, Malcolm didn’t ‘do’ relationships, just shagging, and he hadn’t even seemed to have enjoyed that very much.

Sam had missed orgasms.

Adam had been quite good at first when it came to the old orgasm, but now, eighteen months later, the well had run dry and they’d barely had time for sex.

They barely talked.

Adam was sooo busy and being an aid to Fegus took up most of his time.

Too much of his time, a small voice in the back of Sam’s head had warned her.

Of course deep down Sam had known she was being silly, a gay husband was one thing, but there was no way that Adam and Fergus had been shagging, no way, none at all…

Perhaps her vagina had, had the power to turn men gay…

Should she have called the other 5 men she’d slept with previously to check…

The minutes silence had passed and Sam had realised that she’d been lost in throughts about her sex life and her gay making vagina, to even think about war or loss, or her two Grandads who had served in the Second World War, or her Great-Grandads who had fought in the First and her Great Gran who had driven ambulances.

Instead of thinking about the noble scrafices of former generations, she’d thought about Malcolm.

Ben Swain had vanished off probably to do one of his massive shits Sam had heard the cleaners complaining about.

Suddenly Sam had heard someone talking and it had taken her a moment to realise that it was Malcolm.

Red lips are not so red  
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.  
Kindness of wooed and wooer  
Seems shame to their love pure.  
O Love, your eyes lose lure  
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude  
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,  
Rolling and rolling there  
Where God seems not to care:  
Till the fierce love they bear  
Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft,—  
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—  
Your dear voice is not dear,  
Gentle, and evening clear,  
As theirs whom none now hear,  
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot  
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;  
And though your hand be pale,  
Paler are all which trail  
Your cross through flame and hail:  
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

"I didn’t take you for a Wilfred Owen fan, Malcolm?”

Sam had said.

"Ah well young Sam, there’s a lot ye still don’t know about me.”

For some unknown reason the mention of the word still had set Sam’s heart pounding.

"Well I look forward to finding out, Malc.”

Malc, Sam had never called Malcolm anything but Malcolm before.

Malcolm had smiled.

Sam had smiled.

The future had been theirs.


	27. Next year, do you think we should get a magician?

Malcolm had never been afraid.

No, that’s a lie, he’d been a tad ‘nervous’ about prison, but he had never been truly afraid.

The 27th July 2018 changed all that however, because the 27th July happened to be Dean’s birthday, and to make the occasion of turning the big 5, Dean had requested a birthday party.

Not any birthday party, not a family meal, but a party had had consisted of no fewer than 12, 5 year olds, or soon to be 5 year olds.

Bring on Brexit.

Fire, plague and balding…

In the face of Dean’s party, Malcolm could have taken it all on.

Even Sam had been in a flap, and by the end of the day her hair had been actually frizzy.

Chanelle having been wise and always one step ahead had buggered off to Artie’s house for a sleepover and cinema trip.

Bex had heartlessly abandoned them after only 2 hours, claiming that she’d had other pressing engagments.

Malcolm had felt himself growing greyer by the second as the living room had turned into a battle ground, the rabbits had been terrified and Charleston had gone into hiding in the washing basket.

Every surface had been sticky, and two of his priceless first editions had been gunged to within an inch of his life.

The screaming had caused his ears to ring for days afterwards, and he’d wondered if the Blitz had been as bad.

Eventually relaxed looking parents had arrived to collect their little monsters.

As Malcolm had finally shut the door, he’d felt so tired that all he had wanted to do was collapse.

"Someone has thrown a stone at the French windows and cracked them.”

Sam’s voice had called from the direction of the kitchen.

As Malcolm had made his inspection he had found that someone had cracked the French windows, and later the culpit was revealed to have been their own son, Dean.

Malcolm of course omitted this nugget, when he’d phoned the insurance the following day…putting the blame first on ANOTHER CHILD and then possibly a BIRD.

At night when they had finally dragged themselves up to bed, Malcolm had been so tired he could barely breathe, Sam had turned to him an mused.

"Next year, do you think we should get a magician?”


End file.
